What are you doing Friday night, Cat?

Oh I'll be super busy doing... stuff (*Spends the entire evening/next morning writing fanfiction).

Hope you enjoy this chapter!

-Cat

Chapter 11

Stand/Fall

January 12, 1982

Four days after full moon. Remus twisted his torso, trying to adjust the itchiness of his old bandage across his stomach. His mouth still tasted like blood. He'd managed to claw the inside of his cheek. The place was a line of fire, hot and metallic. The exhausted, half-frozen part of himself almost wished that he had not successfully avoided Alastor Moody this month.

After the night spent at Leaky Cauldron, Remus had stayed away from the pub. Minerva would surely report to Dumbledore. Then Moody would know where to look.

It wasn't that he was ungrateful to the grumpy auror for looking after him. But he could not help but expect Mad-Eye to lose interest eventually… to leave him alone like he wanted. And feared. So he needed to survive the moon alone, just to prove he could when the time came.

And he had survived. But for some reason, it did not feel like much of a victory. His body bore more damage from the last three moons than any of the moons from fifth year to Halloween combined. Yes, he'd survived the moon. But he hated that he had to.

The piece of parchment clutched in his hand crinkled under his tightened grip. His fingertips poking through his threadbare gloves were slowly going from red to blue in the cold.

Dear Moony,

Sharp inhale.

"You know we'll never leave you, right?" the wraith of Sirius whispered into his ear. Remus twitched, but kept his eyes glued stubbornly to the letter. He would finish this.

Remus, this is James. Don't listen to a single thing he-

Fuck off Pron-

Language Padfoot, what would our dear professor say-

FUUU-

He only said those things cuz I was reading over his shoul-

I fought him off (Lily did). Actually, everyone's gone to bed now, so no more interruptions. We've upped the protection a little more, but with the way things are going, Dumbledore thinks they may have to going into hiding permanently and soon (I can't really say much here, in case this gets into the wrong hands). They're doing okay. I know Lily has been having trouble sleeping. And James hates being cooped up here so I try and visit as often as I can. Peter too, he was here earlier. He seemed… not himself I guess. After what happened to the McKinnons… I guess we all feel a little off…

Are you okay?

Because it really has been longer than usual-

Mechanically, Remus folded away the elegant scrawl of Sirius Black and tucked it back into the lining of his coat. He would finish it later, when he could deal with questions like "Are you okay?"

He knotted his arms tightly around himself, drawing his coat closer and jamming his frozen fingers into his armpits. Concrete grated on his spine, flooding his back with cold, while the front of him was touched with warmth from the barrel fire. Bands of flickering orange light crept past the figures surrounding the more intense heat. He had returned to the urban pack the previous night, unable to bear another night in a back alley protected by energy-draining warming spells. Not that the stench and the constant shifting of bodies was much better. But at least it was warm. And it fulfilled his need to do something.

The papers and wanted ads were crumbled into his coat for insulation. He'd given up on finding a job with the new license marking him a dangerous pariah. His father's friend, Mr. Evaltas, was his last option. He finally scraped together a few knuts to pay for a cheap owl post service and sent the naturalist a letter the day before the moon. He had yet to hear back.

Shadows shifted, shrouding him. Energy skittered through the werewolves, something different than apathy. Remus tensed. Months of spying for Dumbledore taught him not to move, to adjust his eyes and sharpen his other senses.

Low conversation sputtered out. There were heavy footfalls on the wet concrete, at least three newcomers coming down the south tunnel. Perhaps as much as six. A train roared by, drowning out sound and vibrating the floor. Air, pushed by changing pressure, eddied through the pack, carrying scents, smells. Blood, musk, foul odor of sweat and sewage. Noticeable only because it was different, not new in this living mass of persons. But there were a few subtle things that did not belong. Clean cotton, ink. Ash.

The echoes of the train dissipated, allowing regular sound to return. Harsh breathing. Mocking chuckle. The hair prickled on the back of Remus' neck.

"It's been far too long since I've visited this sorry lot." Gravelly, somehow carnal with disgust. "What a pitiful little hovel."

Shuffling.

"You disagree? Get him up!"

Scuffle, yelps, and a grunt of pain. Fear smell, sharp as urine.

"Fresh meat, aren't you?" the voice rasped. "But not one of mine. Pity."

This time, the victim gave a hoarse shout, then Remus heard him hit the floor, hard. He used the ripple of shock running through the pack to shift his weight against the damp wall. Now he could see the new arrivals through the smokey darkness.

Greyback was immediately visible. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and a permanent curve in his spine from his transformations. It bent his weight over the offender,-Merlin, just a teenager-like a hulking shadowy gargoyle. The firelight glinted on eyes like chips of obsidian.

Remus studied his maker, keeping the boy in his peripheral.

The last time he had seen Greyback had been much like this. Except instead of dripping tunnels, it was in the musty stillness of the summer forest. And he had been the victim on the floor of decaying leaves. Thank Merlin he had his wand then. He still remembered the taste of adrenaline in his mouth, the thrill of fear. He'd escaped with just a bruise and a few cuts.

Now, as his fingertips brushed the wooden handle of his wand, he felt nothing. Vaguely, he knew he should be afraid. He was strangely removed from the werewolves around him, whose hearts were beating and muscles frozen. Detached.

Maybe fear could not find him as easily as it did that summer, when he had so much more to lose.

Greyback gave the boy a hard kick. Then he scanned the rest of the werewolves, crammed into the long cylindrical chamber, huddled away from puddles crusted with foul green ice. Remus glanced over his companions. They were his main followers, werewolves all. He knew some: Ceres, Julian, Farkas, Owais. There were no Death Eaters. Remus felt a small twinge of disappointment, but who could expect a Death Eater to descend to this place?

With a low snarl, Greyback hauled the unfortunate victim up and wrapped a burly arm around his neck. Remus tensed. Greyback had killed before, both as a wolf and as a man. But this was so casual, so careless, and the kid was so young-

"I would love to snap this fucker's neck." Greyback's announcement echoed through the chamber, addressing the frozen listeners. The very air had gone still. "But I'm here for someone else," he continued, voice low and threatening. "I know you're here. And if you don't reveal yourself, then this sod's death can be on your conscience. I know you couldn't handle that…"

Remus felt the goosebumps raise on his arms and his blood went cold.

"I just want to talk, Lupin, nothing… perverse," purred the alpha werewolf. "I hear you've been looking for me."

Now he could feel adrenaline gathering in his throat, the animal instinct to flee. Or to remain utterly statuesque and let Greyback wrench his captive's cervical vertebrae apart. It would be easy. After all, how much of his humanity had he preserved in the last month?

The teenager in Greyback's grasp was starting to struggle against the dirty arm pressed against his windpipe. Remus heard his wheezing whimpers increase with panic. His heart fluttered. That could have been him in another life…

"...more than this."

Then his self was back, retrieved by the words of the man who pretended to be his friend. He stood numbly. A murmuration of motion spread out like a shockwave through the tunnel, but Remus was focused only on Fenrir Greyback. An old fire was sparking in his chest, just barely.

"I have," Remus confirmed. He was proud of how even his statement was.

A carnal sneer spread across Greyback's face and he dropped the boy like a ragdoll. There was a desperate scrabbling as he put as much distance between himself and Greyback as he could. Remus was tempted to do the same, but he held his ground.

"Ah, Remus," hummed Greyback, adopting a fatherly tone. "You are too easy to manipulate."

"What do you want?" Remus asked sharply. Now the initial dread had truly washed away, replaced by something reckless and angry.

"Well, I could be ask you the same," Greyback replied. In the gloom, his eyes were like filaments. "Why don't we discuss somewhere a little less… crowded?"

Remus eyed the motley collection of rogue werewolves behind Greyback and clutched his wand a little tighter. He was outnumbered. They would be on him in seconds if he agreed. But then… he was a fully capable wizard. Only Greyback and Ceres would be armed with wands, if nothing had changed since the end of the war. In a swift, but purposely dramatic display of magic, he levitated and miniaturized his things with a flash of light and swept them into his pockets. A few of the tense vagabonds around him jumped with shock, but Remus did not take his eyes off Greyback. He stared him down, wand visible and ready.

A warning.

Greyback grinned like a shark and spread his dirty hands wide. The tattered sleeve of his coat lifted just slightly, showing the skull and gaping, snake-clogged mouth of the Dark Mark on his left forearm. The ring of squatters around him recoiled backwards, hissing and murmuring. It was no longer ink-black and writhing like Remus remembered, but dull iron gray. The serpent was fixed and still on the filthy skin.

Remus looked from the Dark Mark back to the alpha.

"Yes, it's still there," hissed Greyback. His tone was a mix of pleasure and disgust. He was a feared servant of the Dark Lord. He was powerful. But he was owned. "It will not fade while he lives. Now…" He paused, allowing the mingled whimpers and gasps to dissolve. "Shall we go?"

Remus knew better than to trust Greyback, but waded forward through the sleeping pallets and dirty, frosted water and dead rats. It would be better to move this confrontation somewhere else. When he was close enough to see the dirt and dried blood crusted into the lines of Greyback's hands, he stopped.

"I'll follow behind you and your pack."

"As you wish," Greyback growled low. He took the lead, his pack members falling in behind him. Remus stayed a good four meters back from the last one, Owais, every sense tingling and listening for an ambush from behind. None came. They navigated through the tunnels, keeping to the shadows, harsh in the scattered fluorescent lights, dissipated by the older vivid-orange bulbs. The silence was broken by droplets echoing, roaring trains, distant car horns, snapping ice.

And then they ascended into the world by an old, underused station. Remus was cautious as he emerged, but the pack merely waited for him under the flickering streetlights. A radio blared from an apartment nearby. A feral cat yowled and a few drunks argued on the corner. Otherwise, the chosen place was abandoned, flanked by decaying buildings and dark alleyways. Remus' fingers quickly grew numb on his wand. It was much colder on the surface of the earth than in the tunnels.

Greyback ducked into a larger alley, where the graffiti was lurid in the bright halo of the streetlight. Apprehension twisting in his gut, Remus stopped at the entrance, just past the shadow of the building so his eyes could adjust to the gloom. The alpha werewolf leaned casually against a dumpster and lit a cigarette. The others melted into the shadows deeper within. Remus could hear them breathing and stomping in the cold, could smell their rancid clothes.

"So…" Greyback began after sucking on his cigarette and blowing a haze of blue smoke into the frigid air. "The war's over Lupin. Thought you were done with betraying our kind by spying for Dumbledore."

"You murdered Danny Carmichael," Remus said, ignoring the taunt. Heat was flaring in his chest, clawing like the wolf.

"He was collateral," Greyback drawled, eyes sparking.

"He was a child!"

This retort was pointless, of course. Greyback did not have a conscience. But Remus beyond caring if he listened. Hatred burned hot and fast, scalding through anything else. He was trembling with fury, and not just at Greyback. Because sometimes, in his mind, Danny looked like a tiny James with bright emerald eyes. And Greyback was the man that traded him to the Dark Lord.

Who had taken everything. Maybe that was why he was so unafraid, staring down Greyback and his pack of werewolves.

Greyback was chuckling. Remus' wand hand trembled with the effort to keep himself from killing him with a single, green curse. But he had to control himself. Control was all he had.

"You care so much, Remus," Greyback rasped between amused breaths. He flicked an ember from the cigarette butt to the concrete.

"Why did he deserve to die?" Remus snapped.

"Danny did nothing wrong. An innocent." Greyback leered at him. "Rather like you. Is that why this bothers you so much?"

But Remus' mind raced ahead. Rather like you. His dad flashed before his eyes, miserable and white with anguish. "It was my fault, Remus. This is all my fault…"

He thought about the wandmaker, Liam Carmichael. "His father did something. Did he insult you?"

"Werewolves are soulless, evil, deserving nothing but death," Greyback echoed Lyall's ignorant words cruelly. Remus did not react. Greyback's gleeful expression darkened. "No, he probably never even met a werewolf until the Cold Moon. But you really don't expect me to tell you the whole story, do you?"

No, he didn't. Remus decided to try a different attack. His anger had become a blood-bright coal, less reckless and more calculating. "What promises did Voldemort make you?"

"Thinking of changing sides?"

"He's gone," Remus said, watching the werewolf carefully. "What was it you needed from him? A channel for bloodlust? Justification for those you murdered?"

"Recognition," Greyback hissed, smoke curling out between his filed yellow teeth.

"Then you're a fool," Remus replied, his tone still quiet, but harsher. "Voldemort lies. Had he won, he would never have given werewolves equality."

"The only fool here is you," Greyback snapped. "The werewolf is superior. He did not promise equality, he promised more. Free reign to hunt as we please."

"He saw himself as greater than you," Remus challenged.

"He is separate from us," Greyback retorted, his chin tilted upwards. "There can be no comparison. The wolf is power, raw and untempered by the deficiencies of man."

"So you remain blindly loyal-"

"I am loyal!" Greyback barked. "And when we return him to power he will reward me."

There it was. Confirmation. Remus kept his face unmoved. Behind Greyback, the other members of the pack prowled and watched restlessly.

"So," Remus said quietly, viciously. "There is someone else. Who is it then, who convinced the mighty Fenrir Greyback to play attack dog? Do you roll over too?"

Greyback stared at him. Then he took another drag from the cigarette before tossing the butt to the ground. An ember skittered away before he crushed it with a booted foot. He was no longer leaning on the dumpster, but standing tall and menacing. The pack stiffened. Remus tensed, keeping his wand at his side. His shoulder muscles jumped, ready to snap at any second.

"The Dark Lord will reward us," Greyback repeated softly. His eyes reflected the light briefly, glittering like tiny neon mirrors. "And you will regret ever rejecting my offers to join our hunt. Every lycan in Europe will howl my name, will honor the blood I have spilt for their freedom. Their hunger will be satisfied."

"Your savagery does nothing for us," Remus replied, his throat slick with revulsion.

"And renouncing your true nature does?" Greyback countered smoothly. "Tell me Remus, what do you gain from what you suffer each moon, locked away to claw at yourself? What to you gain from the loneliness in between?"

Once, Remus might have had a better answer for this. That time seemed like a separate life. A dream. "Nothing except my dignity."

"You debase yourself," Greyback snarled. "You cling to your human weakness like a mewling infant. You call that dignity? There is no power in suffering!"

Greyback's voice reverberated in the alleyway. Remus knew somehow, intuitively that his maker was wrong about this. But his rational mind was agreeing despite himself. The wound on his stomach was frozen with cold. His bones ached, the very marrow traumatized by the moon. He was starving and probably running a fever judging from the way his skin prickled beneath his clothes. The weight of grief and thousands of moons was like a physical thing, crippling him. Nothing about him was powerful right now.

And yet he was still standing.

"What, no witty retort?" Greyback asked, cracking through the icy silence. There was a glint of triumph in his eyes.

"I'm not looking for power," Remus said quietly.

"No." Greyback's voice grated against the bricks, fury melting into curiosity. Almost pity, if he were capable. "No, you're not, are you? Look at yourself." He swept his clawed hand through the air like a scythe. Remus almost flinched. Almost. "You suffer injustice, betrayal, abandonment. Do these really mean anything? If you join me right now, right here, it will end. You'll have a community again, people to stand with you. Be reasonable Remus."

An absurd desire to laugh bloomed in Remus' chest. Greyback had misread him. He was no stranger to the temptation to just give up, but he was far too well-informed about the werewolf's violent rogue pack to think joining them was the answer to his problems. He was here for Harry, not for himself.

"Not for all the comfort in the world," he said, more sure of himself than he had been this entire verbal battle.

Greyback did not look surprised. His pack was gathering in a dark line at his flanks. Remus raised his wand a little higher, so that it caught an edge of streetlight. He had what he was looking for. Greyback would tell him no more about Voldemort or the other loyal supporters or the crime of Liam Carmichael. It was time to go.

"Wrong choice, Lupin," Greyback menaced. "I'm not the only one watching you. You were a friend of the Potters. There are other servants of the Dark Lord who would love to sink their teeth into your flesh."

Remus hesitated, the question on his lips. Who?

But the alpha werewolf was drawing his own wand. Ceres copied his leader's movements, lips curled back over yellow, filed fangs. The beta's shoulder bunched, betraying his intention.

Remus had a shield up before the curse flew from the other werewolf. It collided with an explosion of crimson sparks and a flash of light. Remus did not stay long enough for the green spots to clear from his retinas. He threw out a barrage of stunners, counter-attacks sizzling past him, then disapparated with a crack in the strobing darkness.

April 19, 1986

"Ennervate!"

Sirius' eyes blinked open to a sky as blue as eggshells. He coughed, feeling his lungs spasm as they filled with air.

"Five more minutes," he muttered.

"Siri! Are you okay?" gasped Harry's voice. Sirius vaguely identified the small hands shaking his shoulder.

"Peachy," Sirius grunted. "'Cept that was the best sleep I've had in weeks and someone interrupted it." He glared pointedly at the huge, bulky shadow that was now obscuring the perfect, endless sky.

"Kid was getting frantic. And yellin' at me for stunning you."

"Hmph."

"Get up. Let's go again."

Sirius levered himself up on his elbows, rotating his neck experimentally. Moisture had soaked into his shirt and his pants were covered with green stains. Harry rocked backwards into the thick grass, eyeing Sirius with concern.

"Here's your wand," he said, holding out the fir wand.

"Thanks."

"It feels funny in my fingers," Harry said, flexing his hand once Sirius took it. "Like… buzzing."

"That's the magic trying to connect with you Prongslet," Sirius said with a grin.

"Whoa…"

"Yeah. Okay, Harry, back on the porch with you. I want to see every one of those handwriting exercises done by the time we're finished."

"Is he going to knock you out again?" Harry asked, crossing his arms and shooting Mad-Eye another glare.

"Nah, I won't let him."

Now Harry turned his gaze to Sirius, looking dubious. "Like you did last time?"

Sirius erupted into bark-like laughter, standing and pushing Harry in the direction of the cottage. Harry went reluctantly, frowning at the two older wizards as he went. Up until now, he had been dazzled by the mock-duels, laughing and clapping as Sirius and Mad-Eye danced around each other. But, Mad-Eye got under Sirius' guard with a stunner. It was probably the first time Harry had seen anything like that before. Sirius had to admire how calm he was.

"I think he gets the sass from you," Mad-Eye groused as they faced off again.

"Nope, that's definitely his mother," Sirius chuckled.

Once more, they bowed and began again. Sirius was out of practice, that much had been made clear within the first few days. Mad-Eye had not given him any time to dwell on what he had seen at the Ministry. He had only wallowed for a day before Mad-Eye had appeared to challenge him to a duel. And beaten him soundly.

He'd come every day since then. The scarred auror was fast and ruthless in his style, constanting reprimanding Sirius on his footing, his wandwork, his spell-choice. The peaceful meadow was often punctuated gruff roars of, "Constant vigilance, Black!"

But Sirius was improving. He was beginning to feel like his younger self (though he knew he could never be that person again). He was quicker, his movements flowed into instinct instead of practical response. Sirius was always a good dueller, though a little brash and hot-headed. "A little?!" snorted James in his head. Sirius ignored him.

The duelling also gave him an outlet of a kind (the black burn scars in the yard were slowly yielding to new shoots). It brought him out of the knot of dark memories, kept his demons behind locked doors. He had something else to focus on. This was something like moving on, not idling in anger and grief. Forwards not backwards.

It did not lighten his load. But he felt stronger now. Strong enough to look at Remus' handwritten notes, to share the photographs with Harry and the stories behind each one. He told Mad-Eye about the box of candy beans and the droobles wrappers, but the auror was just as flummoxed as he was.

If only he could untangle the threads.

Seil setiryp. Verum argentum.

"Vigilance, Black!"

Sirius ducked and rolled. He felt whatever curse Mad-Eye had thrown as a line of heat across his back. Seconds later, his nostrils were met with the smell of burned fabric. Constant vigilance, Sirius scolded himself, sending a return hex. Still, he could not shake the ghost of Remus, who sometimes appeared in the corner of his eye to watch. Forwards. Not backwards.

"Stupefy!"

"Protego! Tarantallegra!"

A crackling thunder of nonverbal spells.

Remus was joined by Carmichael, his face was scratched and bleeding, his mouth was spilling nonsensical words.

Backwards.

"Wait! Time-out!" he shouted.

"There is no time-out in the real world, Black!"

Sirius dodged another crimson stunner. Then, in a series of furious lightning fast movements, he sent a barrage of curses, followed by a feint and a full body-bind. Mad-Eye countered all but the last. His arms snapped to his sides and he toppled backwards, stiff as a board.

Panting, Sirius stood frozen, his mind racing. "Backwards," he muttered to himself. Remus was smiling. Then louder. "It's backwards. Merlin, we're bloody idiots-"

He fumbled for his pocket where the note was crumbled, even though he had it memorized. Flattening it with shaking fingers, he stared at the letters, rearranging them in his head. Seil setiryp. Pyrites lies.

Pyrites.

Lies.

Sirius stared, his knees locked, the single piece sliding into place. Had the wandmaker known Pyrites? Mad-Eye never said…

Remembering his mentor suddenly, Sirius jabbed his wand at the prone figure and barked, "Finite."

"Black, if you ever leave me in a body-bind like that again, I swear to bloody Merlin himself-"

"Carmichael and Pyrites, did they know each other?" Sirius, interrupted. Mad-Eye peered at him with irritation.

"Could've been at Hogwarts together," he grunted, standing on his one human leg first and levering up his stiff wooden one. "They're around the same age. And both were employed by the Ministry."

Mutely, Sirius handed him the note. Mad-Eye took it and stared at it with his blue eye, the other staying fixed on Sirius. "Pyrites lies," Sirius said. "That's what it says. It's just backwards."

The magical eye twitched across the note several times, then began to spin in its socket. The craggy lines on his face deepened. "Bloody bastard," he growled. He thrust the note back to Sirius. "Bloody effing bastard-All this time-" He turned and started to stomp towards the gate, swearing.

"You think-"

"I think," Mad-Eye said, spinning back with rage-fuelled ferocity. "I don't know anything. And unfortunately for us, that means we have to tread carefully."

"What do you mean?" Sirius asked.

"Use your brains, Black," Mad-Eye retorted, gesturing stiffly with his wand. "All we have is a note from a dead man."

"A dead man," Sirius emphasized. Then he paused and gaped at Mad-Eye. "You… you think he could be innocent. Just another piece…"

"Hardly," Mad-Eye said harshly. "But reacting emotionally will get us nowhere. We are going to watch and wait."

"What?! No! We have to confront him-"

"And say what, may I ask?" Mad-Eye snarled. "'We have a note here that says you're lying about something? Care to explain what that is?' One thing I've learned since You-Know-Who fell is that acting carelessly only serves the enemy."

"It's murder," Sirius retorted heatedly.

"Look at how many Death Eaters are walking free because of half-baked evidence!" Mad-Eye shouted back. "I had to watch as my arrests slipped their chains like eels! Macnair is an executioner for the Ministry, Karkaroff I hear has been instated as Headmaster at Durmstrang. Lucius Malfoy is a respected financial backer of many Ministry projects for Merlin's sake! This is a game, Black; a game where the rules change daily, and never in our favor. We have no proof Pyrites did anything, only the word of a dead man that he is a liar. Tell me, how can we prove he lied if we don't even know what the truth is?!"

Sirius stared, anger crackling in his lungs, in his limbs. Truth and deceit. The battle between the two could not be as complicated as this. Yet somehow, the difference was as elusive as a single drop of fresh water in a vast ocean. A delicate vein of pure metal in an alloy.

Verum argentum.

"The truth is silver," Sirius mumbled. "Whatever the hell that means."

"Exactly."

Sirius wanted to tear his hair out with frustration. They were so close, paralyzed by a dead man's riddle. "What now?"

"Now, we look through the evidence again. We keep an eye on our new friend."

"We aren't even going to talk to him as a suspect?" Sirius demanded. This… this was backwards.

"No," Mad-Eye hissed. "If he is the Death Eater I've been chasing since You-Know-Who fell, I don't want to give him the slightest indication that I'm closer. If he's this good at hiding in plain sight, then he's probably even better at disappearing completely. Besides… reopening the investigation publically could… implicate others."

Sirius recalled the conversation about Carmichael's death and swallowed. Pyrites lies. That was what he was trying to say, written in a shaking, desperate hand. If Pyrites was a Death Eater… if he was the one who… his teeth clenched. The beast of rage in his chest was roaring against its cage, while he stood here inert and powerless.

And the one person he thought would do something about it was insisting they watch and wait. His fists curled into themselves, fingernails biting his palms.

"Have you spoken with Carmichael's wife?" he asked hoarsely. It was a struggle not to just stun Mad-Eye and storm into the Ministry to kill Pyrites himself. Breath whistling through his nose, he looked over to where Harry was concentrating on his handwriting exercises. Don't explode in front of Harry…

"Of course I have," Mad-Eye said dismissively. "It was the first thing I did when his body was found. She didn't know anything about his work or the note. She… hasn't handled his or her son's passing very well."

"Did she say anything helpful?"

"Only that Carmichael was intelligent. Gifted perhaps. He loved his work in the Department of Mysteries, and even more working for Ollivander. That he loved his son and that losing him changed him. But nothing he ever said or did indicated what he meant by verum argentum or that he knew Eurion Pyrites."

"We need to talk to her again," Sirius said.

"We should," sighed Mad-Eye. He rubbed his forehead and surveyed Sirius. "I'm going to the Ministry to dig up what I have on Pyrites. After you bring Harry to the Weasleys, we'll go and speak with Mellie Carmichael."

He turned once more to leave, but paused and looked back at Sirius.

"Don't do anything stupid."

"I won't," Sirius replied, annoyed at how well Mad-Eye read him.

"If he is our Death Eater, we'll catch him. We just have let him think he's the smartest man in the room for a little longer."

Sirius flicked his head in acknowledgement. He could use a stiff drink. But with a glance at Harry, he quelled that particular urge as well. He spent the stiff march towards the porch wondering if they were doing the right thing.

Or if this cautious circumvention was just another injustice to stack upon the tower the Ministry had already built.

The woman who answered the door was tall. Her frame filled the opening so that they could not see inside. She had silvery gold curls, which contrasted with the frown that marred her strong face. Her glare was directed at Mad-Eye.

"Mr. Moody," she said at once. "I was not expecting you."

"Hello Adeline. Apologies, this visit is a little last minute. Do you mind?"

"Yes, I mind," she snapped immediately. "She is not up for visitors today."

"We'll have to make an exception then," replied Mad-Eye stubbornly. "This is of utmost importance."

"Isn't it always? Please, just leave her alone. She's been through enough as it is."

Sirius sensed Mad-Eye swelling with irritation. "Please Ms. Chambers," he cut in with his best Black charm. "I understand that your sister has suffered a great deal because of the war. We'll be brief."

Adaline turned her angry gaze to Sirius as he spoke. He saw the recognition there. Very few people in the wizarding world could have missed his face plastered in the papers repeatedly since March. She worried her lower lip with her teeth, the first sign that she was beginning to cave.

"Please," he said again. "We can't give her peace, but perhaps some truth will come of this visit."

"Fine," sighed Adaline. "Ten minutes. Nothing more."

"Thank you."

Adaline backed out of the doorway and allowed Sirius and Mad-Eye to pass. The house was bright and decorated in calming shades of white and powder blue. Everything was neatly stowed in its place. Adaline was clearly minimalist and practical in her possessions. They had what was necessary.

She lead them to a small sitting room off the entry hallway. She crossed her arms and gestured them inside with a brief movement of her eyes. Mad-Eye lead the way, stumping chaotically through the ordered place. Sirius followed.

Mellie Carmichael looked like she was made of glass. Porcelain skin was like transparent insect wings over her spidery blue veined hands. It drew together in seams around her thin mouth and too-large eyes. Her hair was thin and the color of corn silk. It was severely coiffed into a knot at the base of her skull. She sat in a floral-patterned armchair, a book open in her lap, but she was staring outside. She made no movement to acknowledge the presence of new arrivals in the room.

"You have visitors, Mellie," Adaline said to her sister softly.

Slowly, as if she were waking up from a long sleep, Mellie turned her delicate face to Sirius and Mad-Eye. Her eyes were matte.

"You want to ask me about my husband again," she whispered. "I have nothing more to say to you."

"There's been new evidence," said Mad-Eye gruffly.

"Doesn't matter," muttered Mellie. "It's been three years. You could never tell me why my family was taken from me."

"We might be closer to the answer. Did your husband know a man called Pyrites?" Sirius asked.

The porcelain eyes clicked to him. They were blank as a doll's. It was almost unnerving, the way she contemplated him.

"Pyrites?" she repeated, almost to herself, her voice feather light. "We were in school together."

"Okay…" Sirius said, when she did not continue. "Were you friends?"

"Friends?" Again, Mellie echoed Sirius distantly. "No, I do not believe so. He was in Slytherin. We were in Ravenclaw, Liam and I. And… our friends. Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure." She chanted the last sentence in an eerie sing-song voice, catching and staccato. Then she revolved slowly back to the window, absently smoothing the pages of the book. Sirius stared, uneasy. The woman's grief was fractured, different from his own. And the wording Mellie used made Sirius pause… "I do not believe so." Sirius glanced over to Adaline, who was watching her sister worriedly.

"Is she telling the truth?" he murmured.

"I don't know," Adaline shrugged, seeming uncomfortable. "I'm a squib. I didn't go to Hogwarts. We… did not have much in common at that time."

"Oh," Sirius replied. He understood the wideness of the chasm that could form between siblings. "I see. No friends have ever come to visit her here?"

"None," answered Adaline bitterly. "I'm all she has now."

Sirius looked back to the woman in the chair with sudden, painful empathy. He understood waiting on the brink of madness. Waiting, waiting, waiting… but no one came. Why didn't you come, Moony? The question hurt as deeply as it always did.

Perhaps if his mirror showed his true reflection, it would be as fractured as Mellie Carmichael.

"That's not true, Padfoot," said James sadly from where he lingered in Sirius' memory. "You stayed whole for Harry. You stayed whole for my son. And you will be whole for Remus."

Remus is dea- But he stopped the response in its tracks.

"Mellie, did you ever speak with Pyrites at all?" Mad-Eye was asking. Sirius ignored the blue eye that was fixed on him. "Or did Liam have some kind of relationship with him, either a rivalry or an understanding?"

"I… did I speak with Pyrites?" she seemed to ask herself. Her fragile hands flattened the book pages more frantically. "No, no I don't think so. Liam… Liam could not stand to look at the Slytherins after… after what happened to Ileana."

Both Mad-Eye and Adeline seemed to know who Mellie was speaking about. "Who's Ileana?" Sirius asked.

"Ileana Durand. Her best friend in school," Adeline explained in an undertone. "She died before their seventh year. They say You-Know-Who killed her."

"Voldemort?"

There was a ripping sound. Mellie's hands had spasmed across the pages, tearing them out like butterfly wings.

"Don't say his name," she hissed. Her eyes cleared suddenly and focused on Sirius with a hard, crystalline clarity.

"Sorry," Sirius soothed, his hands up and placating. "Why would he hurt Ileana? She was just a girl…"

"Don't know, don't know," murmured Mellie. She deflated. "No one ever said… We moved on. We had to move on."

"Do you think Pyrites was involved?"

"No, no, he…" Mellie started. Then her voice faded away and she looked confused. Her mouth open and closed, her hands twisting the ripped pages. "He…I don't… I don't think…"

Her lower lip was beginning to tremble. Seeing her sister's distress, Adeline spun to Sirius and Mad-Eye, her mouth thinned and nostrils flared.

"Get out," she ordered. "You've upset her and this is going nowhere. I shouldn't have let you in here in the first place."

Mad-Eye did not protest. He allowed the formidable woman to herd them back out into the hall and through the door. Sirius got one last glance at Mellie through the doorway. The twisted paper in her hands was beginning to shred. In the reflection of the window, he saw her mouth moving ceaselessly, chanting, "I don't, I don't, I don't…"

Then they were outside in the gentle spring warmth beneath the great blue sky. The door slammed behind them. Mad-Eye huffed and started to stump down the walk to the street. Sirius hurried to catch up with him. They walked in silence for a block, then Mad-Eye said, "Never knew how much of her ramblings were reliable."

Sirius was quiet. Mellie's brokenness appeared to be more than grief. It was frightening to see a woman so crushed into the ground. This was what war had done to her. He could not help but compare their fates and wonder… He was far from okay. But how did he deserve to even hope for okay when Mellie Carmichael was so permanently damaged?

"I don't believe her when she says that they never associated with Pyrites," Mad-Eye stated. "She's missing information."

"You think her memory was wiped?" Sirius asked with realization.

"It's possible."

They did not need to speak about who could have done so. Sirius was finally beginning to accept that confronting Pyrites now would be a poor choice. But this did not soften his hatred of uselessness. Their net was shredded by lost knowledge and missing pieces. A million tiny failures. Any Death Eater would easily slip their trap.

"Did anyone ever find out what truly happened to Ileana Durand?" he questioned.

Mad-Eye stared ahead unseeing.

"No. No, we never did."

The day was far too long.

And Sirius could not help but feel disappointed. Not a small disappointment either, but the bone-deep ache of being failed. Failed by the wizarding world, by the Ministry, by justice… failed by Alastor Moody.

He could hardly focus on Harry, who was excitedly regaling him with the mess Fred and George made of Molly's kitchen. Despite this apparent disaster, they had stayed for dinner at the Burrow, but Sirius mainly pushed the food around his plate, mixing the peas into the sauce and cutting his chicken into tiny pieces. He could feel Arthur's eyes on him, thoughtful and contemplating, but he expertly avoided answering any of his probing questions.

"The countertop was covered with this weird purple goo-"

Now, as he absently toweled Harry's hair dry, he almost regretted keeping his problems locked away. He was definitely going to explode if he didn't, that was a fact of his life. Arthur would have listened… but it was too late for unloading today. He abandoned the towel and siphoned the rest of the dampless from Harry's black locks with his wand.

"They had to clean up the whole kitchen! Even though Mrs. Weasley can do it with magic! I've see her do it, but she made them do it like I did at the Dursleys. Buckets and sponges and everything. She must have been really mad-"

Speaking of disappointment. Every time Harry mentioned the Dursleys it was like his lungs were being wound tighter in some kind of machine…

"Took them nearly an hour. Ron said they had it coming though…"

It was a several minutes before Sirius realized that Harry had stopped talking. Startled, he looked down at his godson, pausing in buttoning his pajama shirt. Harry was watching his hands, frowning at the scars that decorated his knuckles. Places where the skin split when he took out his feelings on the walls of his cell.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"You stopped talking."

"It wasn't that interesting of a story," Harry shrugged, not looking up at him. Sirius could have kicked himself.

"It was a very good story," he said hurriedly. "I'm sorry… I was thinking…"

"It's okay."

"It's not," Sirius sighed. He finished buttoning Harry's shirt, then sat back heavily. "It's not okay. I should have… I should be…"

Merlin, he was so tired. His spine was bent beneath his exhaustion.

"I should be better," he mouthed, soft enough that Harry would not hear.

"Well… maybe I can tell you again tomorrow, when you don't have too much to think about," Harry said suddenly. Sirius looked up at him. He was smiling, impossibly. In that moment, he looked just like Lily. "I think you'd laugh if you really heard it."

"Tomorrow then," Sirius replied, his mouth automatically mirroring Harry's smile. How could such innocence still exist when the whole world had fallen so far?

For an instant, he was back in the dark tower, the ocean sucking greedily at the slick sides, pressed against iron bars and screaming to be let out. Because Harry was alone in a world where Wormtail was free. And no one listened.

The agony of doing nothing pounded through his veins. Once more damned to a prison of too many secrets. And Harry was left exposed. That was the worst part about letting Pyrites live another day in the sunlight.

He picked Harry up and carried him to his bedroom. As he tucked the covers around his godson, the back of his neck prickled.

He would spend tonight pacing the house and imagining the white-gloved man watching from the warded borders.

Today was far too long. And he got the feeling it would not end tomorrow.

a/n: Hopefully that all came together in a way that makes sense. I couldn't let Sirius sit on the easy half of the clue for too long (though in the words of Hermione Granger, some wizards just don't have an ounce of logic. But Sirius is too smart for that).

Anyway, I can't wait to hear your thoughts/comments/concerns and I hope that wherever you are the weather is getting warmer (because it can't make up its mind here). Huge thank you to everyone who reviews, especially those who leave a thought on each chapter because you have a special place in my heart, even though I don't always respond.